The brazen, barefaced manner in which Lefty Locke denied his identity and professed that he had never even seen a game of baseball was simply staggering. For old Jack still refused to believe the man could be any one save Locke himself.
What was Lefty’s object? Surely he ought to know that he could not fool his old manager by such a silly subterfuge and barefaced falsehood. That he was trying to “put over” a puerile joke did not appear possible, and certainly there was no twinkle of mirth in his steady eyes, no smile upon his sober face.
There was something behind the young pitcher’s denial of his identity which Kennedy could not understand, something which confused as well as annoyed him. He was mustering his wits to begin all over again when suddenly the new arrival said:
“I trust you’ll excuse me, pal. I’ll have to wash up before supper, which I see is in progress now.” He glanced in the direction of the open doors to the dining room and turned to the clerk. “Can I have my room now?” he asked.
“Your luggage?” questioned the clerk significantly.
“I haven’t any. I’ll pay a day in advance. How much?”
“Three dollars.”
Producing a roll of bills, the man peeled off a two and a one and shoved them across the desk, whereupon the clerk handed the key over to a boy, who invited the guest to follow him.
They had not disappeared before Kennedy was surveying the register, on which he found written: “Robert Stranger, N. Y.”
“Well, wouldn’t that freeze you stiff!” he muttered.
He was still muttering to himself when Landlord McLaughlin appeared.
“What’s the matter now, Jack?” inquired the sporting proprietor of the Central House. “You’re growlin’ like a dog with a sore ear. Same old trouble ’bout pitchers, I s’pose?”
“I came in to consult with you about that southpaw, Mercer, we’ve been trying to get holt of for a week. I’ve got him to state his terms at last.”
“Good,” said McLaughlin.
“Bad,” said Kennedy. “He wants sixty a week and board. We can’t afford it, Peter, in this little crossroads town. It’ll take us over our salary limit, too.”
“We’ve got to have a fust-class pitcher at any price. You said so yourself. Ain’t there no way to hire him and keep under the salary limit?”
“Only one way. We can release one of our other pitchers, along with the utility man we’re keeping on the bench for emergencies. If a pinch comes I can go into the game myself.”
“Your plan seems all right to me, and I’m for it. We can get along without Heines. Three pitchers is all we’ve had, anyhow, and they’re enough. I say, nail Mercer. We’ve got to have somebody quick. I just heard to-night that Bristol’s signed a new twirler for the Buccaneers. You see, Hank don’t propose to let you git the bulge on him.”
“Did you hear the name of Bristol’s new pitcher?”
“Yep, but it sorter slipped me. It was Eagan or Elywin, or something like that. I’ll bet he’s a ripper.”
“He’s probably a good man if Hank’s signed him at this late day.”
“Well, you see where that puts us. You see what we’re up against. We can’t expect to get no Big League pitcher now.”
“I don’t know ’bout that,” returned Kennedy in a low tone, his eyes on a man who was descending the stairs, and who turned at once toward the dining room. “There goes one.”
“Hey? What?” spluttered the landlord.
“There goes one of the cleverest young portside pitchers it has been my luck to see work in a game in the last three years.”
“Hey?” spluttered Peter once more. “That feller there? The one just goin’ into the dining room?”
“That’s the man.”
“What you giving me, Jack?”
“Straight facts.”
“Why, what’s he doin’ round here?”
“I dunno. That’s what gets me.”
“Who is he?”
“He registered as Robert Stranger, but he played under me with the Blue Stockings, using the name of Tom Locke. He was generally called Lefty.”
Landlord McLaughlin was in a sudden sweat of excitement.
“Played under you? Then you know all about him.”
“I reckoned I knew a lot about him,” said Kennedy; “but in the last ten minutes I’ve sorter changed my mind. Brennan, of the Hornets, got him through a scout early in the season, but Brennan sized him up wrong and let him go unconditionally. I’d been after him before that, and I gave him a try-out. He was there with the goods. When I quit, with the exception of Grist, he was the most dependable pitcher the team had. Since then something has happened to him. I dunno what ’tis, but I could tell by the papers that he was goin’ wrong. He was in that railroad smash the other day. After the smash he wasn’t to be found. Now he’s here.”
“Well, if you have a talk with him he’ll clear things up, of course. He’ll explain it all.”
“I’ve had a talk with him. Instead of explaining, he pretended he didn’t know me. Peter, he denied that he was Lefty Locke and claimed his name was Stranger, under which he has registered here.”
“Jerusalem!” breathed McLaughlin. “That’s mighty funny. How do you figger it?”
“I can’t get only one solution. It must be he didn’t pull well with the new manager. I know Carson, and he’s rough on a man he don’t cotton to. Lefty was suspended shortly before that railroad smash-up. When that came he improved his opportunity to duck. Fool thing to do, but it must be just what he done, Peter. Mebbe he plans to lay low until Carson gets in a hole and needs him desperate. Then, perhaps, he’ll wire Carson and try to make terms. It don’t seem to me that the Lefty Locke I knew would try any such jinks as that, but you never can tell what a man will do.”
“By goudy!” said Peter. “If that’s what he’s up to, mebbe we can get him to do some pitching for us while he’s waitin’ to pull the thing off. We’d make Bristol go some. Why don’t you try it, Jack? You oughter be able to make a deal with him, if anybody can.”
Kennedy shook his head. “I dunno,” he growled, “I dunno ’bout that. Why, he just said not only that he’d never played, but that he’d never as much as seen a game. He’s got me guessing. I’m afraid I can’t make a deal with him.”
“Then I’ll try,” announced Landlord McLaughlin. “Wait till he comes out from supper. Leave it to me.”